


A Little Innocent Thievery

by SoftlyTea



Series: The Misguided Adventures of Liya and her Superiorly-Bred Mer [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Framing, Non-Consensual Tickling, Ondolemar's underwear drawer, Sweetrolls, Thalmor, Thalmor-baiting, The Thalmor Embassy is a boring place, Theft, and so is Markarth, eating the evidence, fanfiction about fanfiction, is nothing sacred, shocked Markarth guards, so what's a Breton to do, this really isn't a good idea, tickling as torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7113130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyTea/pseuds/SoftlyTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Imani is trouble and Liya makes a new friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Embassy Escapades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imdex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdex/gifts).



> You have _read_ [ImDex's stuff,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/imdex/pseuds/imdex) right?
> 
> Bethesda owns all (except my Liya and ImDex's Imani).

Imani tugged experimentally at the leather strips binding her wrists and ankles, noting with some displeasure that they were just a little too tight.  

‘I will give you one last chance, Breton, or I will take drastic measures that you will not enjoy. Now. For the last time. Tell me. Where. You put them.’

Even despite the blindfold, and his obvious effort to keep it from his voice, she could tell he was smiling.

'Never!,’ she retorted, tossing her head in defiance. 'You can’t make me talk!’

When his answer came, he sounded every inch the cold, ruthless interrogator that he was. It was just as well, perhaps, that Imani had been unable to see his fervent attempts to suppress amusement before he trusted himself enough to open his mouth. It would rather have spoiled the effect.

'You forget to whom you speak.’The bed dipped as he sat down beside her, the single finger idly tracing her jawline feeling more like a threat than a caress. He pulled his hand away abruptly and strode to the door. 'Now, we can’t have your agonised shrieks disturbing those of us who are actually able to get on with meaningful work, being unimpeded by irritating, obstinate, disobedient little creatures such as yourself,’ - he got up, cast a Muffle spell and warded the door. 'Good. We begin.’

A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. These little incidents usually proved to be rather pleasant, despite Rulindil’s menacing threats to the contrary.

She sighed as a warm hand trailed down her leg, from inner thigh to calf down to foot, where it lingered. She tensed, anticipation giving way to slight forboding. What was he going to do with her foot? Superior interrogators knew that foot massages did not normally elicit useful information, at least.

'Your recalcitrance has been wearing my patience of late, Breton,’ he mused, more to himself than to her. 'I have clearly been too indulgent. Fortunately, there are - other tactics.’

Imani swallowed thickly, but had no time to contemplate whatever dire fate awaited her before a single fingernail began to scratch a torturously gentle path up the sole of her foot.

There was no way she could have prevented the undignified shriek that such treatment elicited.

'Hm,’ Rulindil observed, regarding his outraged victim with some satisfaction. 'That seemed effective. Insufficient data to draw firm conclusions, however. I suppose I shall have to continue.’

Oh, if he’d only known, all those months ago in the Embassy when they had first met. If he’d only known what would reduce her to a shrieking cursing enraged mess in a matter of minutes, would break her almost disappointingly quickly…

A feather. A simple feather, expertly applied, and somewhere between her anguished cries she managed to choke out an 'ask Ondolemar he knows just for the love of Mara stop I beg you’ before Rulindil could even experiment with the gaps between her other toes.

He did. He was a mer of his word, after all. Now. Find the gloves, get to the meeting. Imani would forgive him. Eventually.

–

Ondolemar was, most uncharacteristically, running late.

He had had some free time that afternoon before the meeting to which he and Rulindil had both been summoned. Liya, who really was not supposed to be anywhere near the Embassy but had somehow found her way in anyway (not having been aided in this by Ondolemar himself in any way, of course, for that would be wrong), had suggested certain highly appealing things they could do to spend aforementioned free time. Thus it was that, when a very flustered Rulindil hammered on his door and threw it open before Ondolemar even had time to react, the Emissary was greeted with a sight he had never expected to see.

The Commander, clad in his smallclothes and not a lot else, was standing holding a pair of gloves which he had apparently just withdrawn from his underwear drawer. Confusion, shock and fear were warring for supremacy on his face.

Sitting on the bed behind him, a tousled young woman who was most assuredly <i>not</i> an Altmer blushed indignantly and held a fur protectively to her chest.

There was a stunned silence.

'I-,’ started Rulindil.

'I think these-’ Ondolemar held out the gloves.

Rulindil took them in a daze. 'Where were-’

Ondolemar looked past Rulindil to Imani.

'Is that-’

'Hello!’ Imani gave a cheerful little wave. 'You must be Ondolemar. I facilitate Thalmor security drills. It’s nice to meet you.’

Ondolemar looked like he was about to pass out.

Liya adjusted the furs and cleared her throat.

'Rulindil, I presume. I hear you are quite the accomplished writer. And… Imani?’

Behind him, Imani giggled. 'Correct!’

The accomplished writer fingered the gloves nervously.

'I’ll… leave you to get dressed. For the meeting,’ he stammered, averting his eyes from the half-naked Commander.

'Yes. The meeting. Urm. Thank you.’

Rulindil backed out of the room and closed the door very gently behind him, as if afraid that any sudden movements might cause irreparable damage to his psyche, logic, the established order of the universe, or any other such concepts that had been sorely tested in the past few minutes.

He turned to Imani in a daze.

'What just happened?’

'Ondolemar found your gloves. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

'In his… underwear drawer. What were they-’

'Oh, that. Yes, I put them there.’

'Ah.’ Rulindil nodded slowly, as if this latest piece of information made perfect sense. After all, with Imani, it rather did. 'And…’

'And yes, you are not the only Thalmor with a so-called inferior lover, so I guess you and Ondolemar are both keeping each other’s secrets, now.’

Rulindil nodded again.

'I see.’

This was a high point of her career, Imani thought. Rulindil looked utterly lost.

'Well, you should go! Enjoy your meeting.’

The meeting’s attendees were too busy praying that Elenwen wouldn’t ask them any unpleasant questions to pay much attention to their two superior officers. Had they been able to do so, they would have noticed that the Emissary and the Commander seemed utterly incapable of meeting each other’s eyes. Until, that is, halfway through the Ambassador’s impassioned speech about 'discipline’ and 'security’ and other 'standards which were woefully slipping’, when Ondolemar gave Rulindil a smirk that would make a khajiit blush, and Rulindil disguised a bark of laughter with a cough and made a show of dutifully scribbling notes on his parchment.

Well. Life had just taken another exciting turn.


	2. Markarth Marauding

Months of living in Markarth had made Ondolemar careful. Some may even say paranoid, but what did they know, anyway. The point was, he _always_ locked the door to his quarters when he left it, no matter how short his absence would be, and he _always_ kept the keys about his person. It was common sense, after all.

So you can probably imagine his shock when he returned to his quarters at the end of another tedious day to find the door slightly ajar.

Shock soon gave way to fury as it became quickly apparent that the perpetrator had not just wanted to practise their lock-picking abilities. When he had left his quarters that morning, there had been a wrapped parcel on the table - a very special parcel, the contents of which were very important to him. It was now conspicuously absent. Its loss would not go unpunished.

Time to engage the full weight of the law.

—

‘Let me guess,’ the slouching guard drawled, 'Someone stole your sweetroll.’

'It is not about the sweetroll, you brainless oaf! It’s-’

The guard perked up. By Talos, someone had actually stolen a sweetroll? He had always assumed this to be the pettiest of petty crimes, for which no-one would dream of involving the guards, but it seemed that he needed a new line now. Somebody had truly stolen the Justiciar’s sweetroll. He needed to apprehend them so he could give them a severe congratulating.

Behind the fuming Altmer, an amused Liya mouthed 'It is absolutely about the sweetroll.’

’… an affront and an insult! Such blatant disregard for an officer’s dwelling and possessions therein is a direct assault on the glorious Aldmeri Dominion, and I will have the culprit in custody by the end of the day or I swear by all the gods that you will be explaining your failure to Northwatch’s interrogator before you can say “heretical Talos worship,” you understand me?’ He took a breath after this marathon of a sentence. 'And I can assure you that the Jarl will hear of this! This is an outrage!’

’…Right,’ replied the guard, doubtfully. 'Well, I can ask around, but-’

Ondolemar took a step forward and prodded the guard in the chest. The steel plate armour spoiled the effect somewhat, but no matter.

'I suggest you remove the word _but_ from your pitiful vocabulary, and move OUT, soldier, if you are indeed worthy of the name! You have your orders! I suggest you heed them!’

Despite the utter ridiculousness of the situation, the guard was rather cowed by the towering apparition of fury staring him down, and he thought it in his best interests to give a shaky salute and hurry off. To do what, he was not entirely sure. Assembling a sweetroll search party didn’t sound as fun when you weren’t going to get to eat your quarry at the end.

—

'Hey, Dragon.’

Imani prodded Rulindil in the ribs. He gave a start and looked up from the report he was reading. She was back, then, and by the looks of the package she was holding, she’d been shopping.

'What?’

'Got you something. Y'know, to - apologise. For the other day. I shouldn’t have stolen your gloves. I’m sorry.’ She held out the parcel.

Rulindil frowned.

'Are you ill, Breton?’

Imani looked confused. 'No? Why?’

'You’re not usually one to apologise. What is it, anyway?’ He eyed the slightly squashed object dubiously.

'Just a sweetroll. A sweetroll for my sweet Dragon Mer. Figured you deserved a break. Anyway, I’m gonna go meet Liya. D'you know, we have a shocking amount in common? Apart from the obvious.’

Rulindil rolled his eyes.

'Auri-El save us all. Go on, out. Let me concentrate. Thank you for the sweetroll, my dear irritant.’

His dear irritant planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek and skipped out of the inn.

_Phase One: Acquisition. Complete. Phase Two: Implication. Complete. Phase Three: Conclusion. Go._

–

'Liya!’

Liya grinned at the joyful Breton bouncing her way.

'Oh, hello, Imani. How are things?’

'Good! Ooh, what’s up with him?’ Imani feigned concern and gestured in the direction of the furiously pacing Commander.

Liya chuckled. 'You’re not going to believe this, but - someone stole his sweetroll.’

Imani clapped a hand over her mouth and let her eyes widen in a perfect show of shock.

'No! How?’

'From his quarters! Well, to be fair, he’s probably more angry that someone broke in in the first place, but that doesn’t sound so funny.’

Ondolemar’s pacing had brought him just about level with the two women. _Phase Three: Strike._

'Indeed not. Hm, a sweetroll, you say? Rulindil had one earlier, which is strange, because when I went to the bakery this morning they were all sold out. I wonder where he got-’

That was all it took. Ondolemar’s thunderous expression clouded still further and he turned on his heel to march in the direction of the Silver-Blood Inn.

Imani grabbed Liya’s hand with a conspiratorial smirk that explained more than words could.

'You didn’t-’ Liya breathed as she allowed her friend to pull her along in Ondolemar’s wake.

'Oh, I did.’

–

Rulindil was quite enjoying the sweetroll. That is, right up until the door slammed open and a furious Ondolemar strode in, pointing an accusing finger at him.

'You.’

The Emissary chewed slowly, looking bemused.

'Commander? Is everything quite alright?’

'No. No it is not. Where did you get that sweetroll?’

Rulindil bristled. It had been a rather tiresome day already, and while he liked and respected Ondolemar, he had little patience for theatrics. He really did just wish to eat his sweetroll in peace.

'Do you really have nothing better to do than to enquire as to the origins of my sweetroll?’

Ondolemar folded his arms and glared.

'At present? No. And it just so happens that _someone_ broke into my quarters and _seized_ mine, which looked quite strikingly similar to that one that is currently halfway to your-’

'Are you accusing me of theft, Commander? A high-ranking officer of the Aldmeri Dominion, skulking about committing acts of petty larceny for the sake of Nordic confectionary?’

'There is nothing _petty_ about breaking into a Thalmor agent’s quarters and _making off with his possessions!_ ’  

Imani leant back against the wall and turned to Liya. 'My money’s on the big one.’

'They’re both pretty big, Imani.’

'True. Okay, 5 septims says Ondolemar is going to punch something.’

Rulindil set aside his half-eaten sweetroll with a sigh.

'I ask you again. Are you, or are you not, accusing me of this most…’ his eyebrow raised - ’ _heinous_ of crimes?’

Imani sucked her breath in through her teeth and winced. 'Ooh, superior sarcasm. That’s gonna hurt.’

Ondolemar was turning pink, and it was rather amusing.

'Perhaps I should remind you, _Emissary_ , that stealing from an officer carries the heaviest and most unpleasant of sentences…’

Rulindil got to his feet.

'And perhaps I should remind _you, Commander_ , that slander and calumny are really not so far behind.’

Liya, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat nervously. She was thoroughly ignored.

'I don’t hear _you_ denying it!’

'Now you listen to me very carefully, if you are still capable of hearing me through that mire of misplaced outrage in which you are currently floundering about ineffectually-’

'Misplaced? _Misplaced?!_ ’

Rulindil ignored him.

'I will humour you. Allow me to explain exactly how this sweetroll came into my possession, then perhaps you would be so good as to cease this ridiculous farce.’

Ondolemar’s glare would have curdled milk, but he maintained a begrudging silence.

'This sweetroll-’ (Rulindil picked the somewhat sticky object up and waved it at Ondolemar in a slightly menacing fashion) 'happened to be a gift. An apology, if you will, from…’

He stopped short, eyes wide as cogs began to turn in two superior minds, until two absolutely livid Mer got to their feet in almost perfect synchronicity and turned on the hapless-

'BRETON!’

The Breton in question grabbed Liya’s arm with a 'time to go!’ and sprinted headlong out of the inn, Liya stumbling along in her wake and tossing hasty apologies over her shoulder.

Pursuit was not forthcoming, as Imani’s unfortunate victims happened to be engaged in something rather more pressing.

Rulindil picked the slightly battered sweetroll up, removed the chewed bits with his dagger and ruefully returned the rest to its rightful owner, who sat down, mollified.

'Hm,’ he said between bites. 'Well, I suppose I owe you an apology.’

Rulindil smiled weakly.

'You’ll forgive me for saying so, Ondolemar, but I’m not sure I can trust people who apologise to me anymore. Especially when sweetrolls are involved.’


End file.
